Ink Cartridge
by Envo
Summary: Itasaku. Their life, their moments. A collection of drabbles and one-shots.
1. Wakeup Call

Title- Ink Cartridge

By- Envo

Genre- General/Humor

Type- AU Modern

Theme- Office

Disclaimer- I don't own Naruto.

* * *

-

Take One: Wakeup Call

-

* * *

The chilling air swirling about the corner of the maze-like office is unmistakable. The normally lively conversations and energetic gossips dull to a low hum of silence under the oppressing atmosphere within the room; all is still. Swift glances of curiosity and bewilderment coming from all four corners of the room are lost upon the tall figure positioned at the exact spot where all the attention gathers.

Scarlet orbs narrow slightly. _This is unacceptable._

"It's so quiet here today—Ah! Uchiha-sama, it sure is nice to see you outside of your office for a change." The feminine, cherry tone breaks the silent spell casting over the crowd of more than thirty.

Twin irritated orbs of crimson train themselves onto the newcomer who just rounded the corner that leads from this spacious room to his own private working space. At the age of twenty-two, the woman before him is no different as any other women, however; he is never one to judge a book from its cover, and that is the sole reason why she stands now before him despite the eye-catching, flamboyant _pink_ hair, big, watery emerald eyes that spells _innocent_ and standing at a height that barely reaches his shoulders. Such a… _girl_ does not fit in the harsh working world, let alone working along his side in his family-owned, widely-known company. But after witnessing the first week of her performance, he is satisfied that his ability in judging people has been proven right once again.

"Haruno."

"Do you need something done, Uchiha-sama?" With a clipboard in hand, the petite woman peers over him and towards the blipping and rumbling machine in the background before sauntering towards him, all the while sending a murderous glare to their numerous audiences; said crowd scurries back to work immediately.

Giving one last scowl over his shoulder towards the offending nuisance, he regards the woman coldly. "I am to understand that should there be any malfunctioned appliance in the office, you would be the one to file a report to the General Administration Department. Why have you not?"

"But there is none." Puzzlement shines brightly in the pair of vibrant green eyes as they stare fearlessly into his own piercing eyes.

Wordlessly, he points towards the machine behind him—its previously loud noises quiet down to a low, persistent drone.

Perplexed jade eyes follow his pointing finger onto the appliance in question before meeting his eyes once again. "The printer? It functions just fine."

"Then explain to me as to why it would not properly perform its specific task?" He knew not only his presence, but his voice alone was much like a knife that could easily intimidate any one; yet it irked him to learn that this woman—who knew no fear— had simply blinked up at him innocently when she should have been cringing in distress.

Small, light steps bring the pink-haired woman to his side. He watches quietly as she glides around with the machine all the while murmuring to herself, "Power, check. Paper, check. Connection cord, check. Setting, check—"

"I'm capable of maneuvering a workable printer, Haruno." His words are cold, but it seems to fall on deaf ears as she continues to poke her head this way and that about the machine. He frowns.

His assistant waves her hand and dismissed his comment casually before straightening up, swiping imaginary dust out of her hands and smoothing her wrinkled skirt in the process. "It is good to go and—"

"Haruno." The warning tone in his voice is a clear indication of his mounting irritation as he bits out her name.

A small frown dons onto her face. "I was getting there. As I was saying, it lacks only one last thing for it to work."

He has to physically stop his molars from grinding against each other when she has all but blatantly tossed away his regards to the matter. "Pray tell."

"You forgot the wakeup call."

Inwardly, he sighs with defeat. _This is definitely not the time to argue with the most stubborn woman he know; he still has plenty to do before the day ends_. "I beg your pardon?"

"The universal, proper wakeup call for all machine appliances. Here, I'll show you."

He is most certainly _not_ prepared for what his newly-acquired assistant does next. The loud 'clunk' echoes about the large room as she lowers her four-inch high heel back to the plain, tile floor. The printer, nearly half of her size, rockes under the sudden brutal assult of said heel before settling down once more. A slender finger reaches out and presses lightly on the 'print' button displayed on the touchscreen. Surprisingly, the machine roars to life before spitting out sheets after sheets of paper with a speed he never seen. In a daze, he can only look at the pair of woman and machine, completely at a loss for words.

Said woman turn to regard him with a mild concerned look.

"I forgot to ask you how many copies you need," a pile of paper thrust towards him, "Is ten enough?"

* * *

A/N: This will be the place where I can dump excess plot bunnies that takes form of drabble pieces. Note the theme, genre, rating and type may change, but all will be centered around Itachi and Sakura (OCC-ness intended).

Hope you enjoy. Reviews, ideas and constructive criticisms are greatly welcomed and appreciated!

Envo 04/12


	2. Countdown

Title- Ink Cartridge

By- Envo

Genre- Angst/Romance/Tragedy

Type- Non-massacre AU

Theme- Hospital

Disclaimer- I don't own Naruto.

* * *

-

Take Two: Countdown

-

* * *

_The moment she held her hitai-ite in her hands, she signed a contract with the Fire Country to protect it and its unarmed citizens at all cost; the moment she swore herself into apprenticeship with the Slug Princess, she vowed to save as many as she could. Ignorantly living her life on knife's edge as a proud chunin, she never thought that one day she would be forced to give up her pride as a Konoha kunoichi; she never imagined she would be meeting her end like this.  
_

Warmth sprinkles across the white, tiled windowsill. Outside, bunches of green sway gently under the teasing wind while abundance of colored petals paints the scenery with life. Crickets chirp joyously under the sky sprayed with lilac and crimson. Scattered lanterns light the lively plaza under the spell of twilight, signifies the waning day and the start of the celebration. Clusters of people roam the streets cladding in summer yukata and clicking geta; their loud chatters and cheerful laughter echoes through the village below.

Orange tinge rays dance off her cheek as she leans closely against the transparent glass and gaze down to the festive, zigzagging streets. The pair of hands stiff from lying uselessly on her side is a brutal reminder of her quickly dissipating strength. Even with her keen chakra control, she can no longer feel her own pulsing energy. Soft, resigned sigh is the only sound in her small cubic room aside from the persistent clicking of the clock. Since when has her strength started drain, she already lost count. Months, maybe years.

That time when she first lost her footing during a journey back from a mission, she had been hysterical. Her chakra had spiral out of control, something she was not familiar with since the start of her academy years. This had thrust her into a research frenzy. Books after books she searched, but it had all left her dangling with disappointment. The next time when she fractured her entire arm because of a chakra-less blow to the earth during a sparring session, she panicked. The blue wisps of energy had been pounding in her fist one second ago and gone in the next. She knew then, something was very wrong.

A set of soft padding sound draws her out of her reverie, and she trains her focus onto the disturbance outside the locked door.

"The visiting hours has passed, ANBU-san." Judging from the squeaky female tone, it must be another one of those infatuated nurses.

A small silence follows before the woman continues, "Very well, ANBU-san. But I will have to ask you to limit your visit to ten minutes. This patient needs to rest soon."

A humorless smile graces her lips. The names those scurrying nurses gives her no longer surprises her; with her rank reducing after being trapped in this room, it is no wonder she is now regarded as 'this patient'.

She strains her ears to hear more, but all she can make out is the deafening silence assaulting her already dimming hearing. Disappointed, she turns back towards the view below in attempt to draw herself away from the sense of loneliness and gloom filling up in her chest and leaving a bitter taste in her mouth.

She stills as a small click pricks her hearing. The sliding door rolls lightly on its rail before sliding back in place once again. Another click.

Resisting a glance over her shoulder, she pins her eyes at an immobile object down below while she focuses on the quiet footfalls approaching her from behind. A heavy coat drops gently over her shoulders, and she glances to the side.

The mask is still in place, as well as the white uniform dirtied with grime. Through the porcelain mask, twin obsidian gaze straight into her eyes. He apparently come straight to her after turning in his mission.

Frowning, she gives him a once over before looking away, satisfied. It is becoming a force habit; even if she can't mend his wounds with her chakra-coated fingers, it is the least she can do.

"I thought you wouldn't be back until tomorrow?" She winces as her words come out in a soft rasp. Weak.

Ignoring her gesture, he replies in his tenor tone, "It is finished."

Silence settles between them as she searches for something reasonable to say. "Why did you come here? You should have gone back and rest. As you can see, I'm not in a hurry of going anywhere any time soon," she waves at the wheelchair she porches on and the locked exit to her room casually.

He lifts his mask and glances her way. "You shouldn't be out of bed," he murmurs lightly before snaking his hands around her back and beneath her knees before lifting her up with ease. His sure steps lead them towards the bed covered with white sheets and blankets.

Her breath catches in her throat when the sudden change of position causes an intense vertigo that leaves her gasping for air. Instantly, he stops in mid stride. "You did not rest properly," his quiet rumble sends vibration through her with her cheek pressing intimately against his uniform-clad chest.

"I can manage." The sudden dizzy spell wears off quickly as she gulps mouthfuls of precious oxygen. She can feel the rush of warm air brush against her nape as she leans against him.

He inches towards a chair nearby and settles down slowly with her curling up in his lap. "This will not continue. You will rest."

The corner of her lips lift slightly. Something will never change no matter what, namely his bossiness. "I'm not tired." As if with a mind of its own, her body—instead of agreeing with her—chooses that exact moment to yawn.

"I can make you sleep." Two orbs of obsidian swirls into scarlet, adding onto his comment as the underlying tone of threat hangs in the air. Without a thought, she covers his eyes hastily.

"No, don't put me to sleep." Her panic-struck voice rings in her ears as she all but shouts her protest, which she immediately regrets. Too late. Ripples of pain crawls its way up from her lungs to her throat and leaves a burning trial in its wake. The copper taste makes her wince as she coughs violently into her freed hand while keeping the other over his eyes, knowing the wet, thick substance landing on her palm will do nothing but alarm the man embracing her.

Callused hand rubbing small circles on her back as he smoothes away her coughing fit, "Your body needs rest." He makes no move to remove her hand covering his eyes, but the hard set corners of his lips speak volumes for his irk in her stubbornness. The other hand circling her waist tightens subtly.

Looking away, she lowers the hand shielding his eyes slowly while clenching the other to hide away the scarlet smear across her palm. "I don't want to close my eyes." Her teeth tags at her bottom lip as she tries to look anywhere but into his eyes. "I might not wake up next time if I close my eyes now," her voice but a mere whisper now.

Wordlessly, he lifts her up against her protest and lay her down on the bed she dreads to be on. Silently tugging the blankets up to her chin, he then drags the chair to her side. "You worry pointlessly."

A string of bitter chuckle escapes her lips. "I still have many things to accomplish, many things to see. I'm not ready to meet my end now and yet here I am, bedridden when my place is out in the field breathing life back to my teammates." The corner of her eyes burn as her vision blurs, but she goes on, "I want to be there for Naruto when he becomes the Hokage and when he and Hinata finally get together; I want to be there when Ino is married; I want—"

_To live and spend my time with you._

His eyes gaze intensely into hers as he probes her to continue wordlessly.

Her entire body feels laden all of a sudden. She tries hard to blink away sleep that hovers of her like a vulture waiting to swoop down for its price. The wet streak of salty tears slip passes her lips and down her chin as darkness slowly sets over her.

_I don't want to close my eyes; I don't want my time to end._

"Itachi, I want to build a family… of my own."

* * *

Even with the call of sleep, she still struggles.

The pair of emerald orbs roll agitatedly under closed eyelids with small beads of moist still trapped within long eyelashes. He waits. Gradually, her ragged breathing smoothes out into a slow and gentle rhythm as sleep takes over.

_Tick Tock._

Flickering light creeps through the gapes between shades and spills into the small, isolated cubical. It illuminates the room in its eerie pink hue and coats Sakura in its tinge. For one moment she seems ethereal, lying on the pristine sheets of white with her carnation pink tresses fanning across her pillow like an otherworldly goddess; as if she is merely sleeping, instead of fighting an internal fight that she is rapidly losing.

_Tick Tock._

Hand reaches out and brushes away a stray strand of pink from her unnaturally pasty face, obsidian eyes narrows. Peeling her digits loose one by one, he wipes away the blood staining her ghostly pale palm with a soft sigh and tangles his fingers with hers.

_Tick Tock_.

Precious seconds of her life slips by, and he can do nothing but stand on the sidelines and watch as she fights for her every breath to stay in this time. The word frustration does not even come close in describing the emotion cruising through him; for someone of his caliber, he can do surprisingly little, and the helplessness blooms stronger as seconds tick by, furthering the disdain directing to himself for not being able to protect her. Weak.

_Tick Tock_.

For once, he feels useless. She is the only woman beside his own mother to accomplish the impossible: earning both his respect and his affection, the only one who he holds secretly in his heart. Even without the given circumstance, he knows what needs to be done. And with that thought, he places his mask back in place while his hands weave through complex seals that will take him directly to his father.

_Tick Tock._

"Your wish… will be arranged."

* * *

A/N: This is a more slow moving story compare to others I've written, and I'm not all together certain rather I like it or not. The ending is pretty open-ended, therefore leaving a considerable amount of space for imagination up to you, my readers!

For those who are wonder about my other stories, here's a note: I'm still working on them. It will take some time seeing what I am going through in life right now, but as I said in my profile, I will try to finish all that I started, so it's only a matter of time before they are all labeled complete.

Reviews make me happy, and a happy me means more inspiration, and thus leads to more writing, which equals more updates. Conclusion: review is a good thing. Thanks for the reviews and the support; definitely keep them coming.

Envo 04/27


	3. Of Cat and Mouse

Title- Ink Cartridge

By- Envo

Genre- General/Humor

Type- AU Non-Massacre

Theme- Game

Disclaimer- I don't own Naruto.

* * *

-

Take Three: Of Cat and Mouse

-

* * *

She is panting, hard. Hands brace on each bent knee with her heart drumming frantically against her chest, she glares hard at the figure slouching against the metal rail just out of her reach. Perspiration slides down from her temples and traces a trial down her cheeks before finally dripping down on the pavement she perches on.

She knew she still has ways to go in breaching their difference in ability-wise, but she never give a thought as to how _big_ of a difference it will that be, granted that he is an ANBU operative and she, a Chunin working on a Jounin level.

And with just this alone, the man definitely brings the term _simple task_ to a whole new level.

"Give up."

Even with her predicament, she still manages to roll her eyes at the man and his dispassionate comment. Really, does he really think she'll give up now? As if.

Air rushes out of her lungs swiftly before regulating back to its smooth rhythm. For a second, her whole body tenses before sprinting out like an arrow shooting towards the apathetic Uchiha. With just a step, he makes her miss again. From the corner of her eyes, the swivel of raven hair disappears into the alley to her left, and automatically, her senses flare out as she follows the fresh trial of a Captain Uchiha.

Thus the chase begins. Again.

Head dips down to dodge a low-hanging cable line from overhead, her teeth clamps down hard on her inner cheek as she pumps more chakra to coax her rubbery legs to move faster. Begrudgingly, she admits that the ever famous Uchiha Itachi lives up to his wide-spread reputations. But for her surrogated mother to refer her to this… this _slave driver_ for the upcoming ANBU entrance exam is just plain torture.

Just what was Tsunade-shishou thinking?

She bursts into the crowded street of Konoha with a surprised yelp as showers of blinding sunlight sears her vision. She curses out loud. Incredulous glance are tossed in her way as she spins on her heels and speeds down the street with streaming tears flowing free from the corners of her eyes.

And no, it isn't even the official training. She, apparently, needs to pass his test to prove to him that she is _worthy_ of his time. Just that thought alone is enough to drive her over the edge with rage. It has already been six days, and her time is running out.

"_Intercept me from the moment I step out of the Uchiha compound till the time I return, and I will grant you your training. You have one week's time."_

The burning tip of her tongue pulls her back from her reverie just in time for her to dodge the foot sticking out in amidst of a crowd. Eyes search swiftly in the cluster of people narrows down to the culprit who tried to trip her; seconds later, she finds herself looking into a pair of amber eyes filling with evident jealousy and veiling heavily with artificial eyelashes.

A muscle in her jaw begins to tick as her molars crush against each other. Hard.

Sending one murderous glare of her shoulder at the quickly retreating girl, she turns her attention back to his trial and surprisingly find said trail quickly dissipating. This time, she doesn't stop the growl from escaping her lips.

Six full days of wild goose chase wears her patiences thin, and on top of it all, she has to use her keen chakra control skills to keep up with his speed and her reflex to dodge varies of unsuspected, flying objects during their chase. Anyone will be surprised at just how many different things can be airborne while she traverses the streets like a mad woman running for her life.

She has enough.

That's right; two can play at this game. She can afford to be demure now, but after this…

"Shikamaru, is that… Sakura chasing _the_ Uchiha Itachi?"

"…Aa."

Heads will roll.

* * *

In the end, she still lost to him when he smugly and slowly glides into the compound. She is not pleased.

The fist flying at her drives her backwards as she sends one of her own after her attacker by reflex. The pair of coffee brown eyes glimmers behind the Black Ops mask before stepping out of her fist's way.

She has been lucky enough to face opponents that are quite easily beaten with her chakra-laced fists, and this is the last exam—the physical endurance test, where no chakra are allowed. The previous fast-pace, intense spars wear down her energy lower than she would have liked, and with the exertion on her part now, she is almost sure that she will be sporting an aching and bruising body by the time this is over and done with.

She jumps as her opponent attempts to sweep her off her feet. Blinking away the beads of perspiration obscuring her vision, she aims a kick to the ghostly mask before flipping back. To her surprise, the hit lands square on its target. The ANBU skids across the ground and hits the wall behind him.

Why doesn't he dodge?

* * *

"Your doing?" Neck cranking to the side, one Nara Shikamaru rubs his sore nape tiredly. Bored eyes glace towards the figure leaning casually against the pillar to his side. White porcelain mask streaked with red turns towards him, the two orbs of onyx glistens under the overhead light.

"You know what to do."

With a weary sigh, he pulls the roster out from a stack of paper in danger of toppling over and places it before him. Without looking at its content, he peers over at the pink haired woman—also known as Ino's best friend with a temper rivaling the Godaime herself—supporting a doubled-over, mask-shattered ANBU all the while apologizing to said panting man.

Women are so strange, Shikamaru thinks to himself as he registers the medic's name under _that person's_ team. They always look for attention, and yet when they finally get it, they flutter. Vaguely, his mind registers the sudden strong pulse of chakra flaring through the air before giving a yawn.

From the corner of his eye, he sees one figure stiffen before swinging around with her pink hair fanning wildly in the air. Emerald eyes wide with a mixture of shock, horror and something else as her eyes search through the roll of judges and finally lands on the ANBU to his side. Never mind the man swinging limply over her shoulder, she openly gapes at the masked Uchiha propping against the building lazily.

Tch, what a showoff, that Uchiha.

Recalling a distant memory, he sighs heavily.

"_I've approved the Uchiha's proposal in taking over her training on my part. I want you to make sure my apprentice doesn't overtax herself under his watch, Nara."_

"_That is not possible, Hokage-sama. With his caliber, Uchiha Itachi will easily exhaust Sakura within the first thirty minutes into the training."_

"_I have nothing left to teach her, Nara. And besides, she is awfully dense when it comes to that Uchiha."_

He only hopes Sakura knows what she is getting herself into; it is known throughout the village that if something were to catch the Uchiha's attention, he will not stop until he gets it. After all, Uchiha gets what they want when they wants it.

"Troublesome."

* * *

A/N: Sheesh, at this rate we will be having 'A collections of one-shots' instead of drabbles...

Thanks once again to those who reviewed. It most definitely motivates me to write more.

Review and tell me what you think!

Envo 05/10


	4. Surprise

Title- Ink Cartridge

By- Envo

Genre- Romance/General/Humor

Type- AU Modern

Theme- Present for Mother's Day

Disclaimer- I don't own Naruto.

* * *

-

Take Four: Surprise

-

* * *

"You are so old-fashioned, Itachi."

"It must be done properly."

And she can't help but smile at the calm and serious air about him. Except for the loose collar three buttons down the way, the rest of his attire is all prim and neat. From the black suit encasing the white dress shirt to the smooth velvet of the black, stripe-less dress pants, everything is in line with; nothing is out of place.

The composed look she has gotten so used to betray none of his emotions, and secretly, she wonders if he ever feels nervous at all.

The door before them swings open abruptly and immediately she finds herself staring into two mirrors of emerald matching her own. The passage of time never seizes to amaze her with lines marring the once smooth skin, but with the ever familiar smile beaming at her, she feels her grin widens.

"Mother."

"Sakura, I'm glad you can make it, dear." Their tight embrace is short living as her mother steps back and surveys her from head to toe, "You are pale, Sakura, and you look like a walking stick. Did you eat at all? Is it because of your job? I told you that occupation of yours is hazardous with stress, not to mention the time you work—"

"Mother, can we take it inside?" She lifts her finger and points at the man to her side, "I said I would be bringing a guest, right?"

Her darling mother blinks up at the man beside her through the sunlight streaming into the opened doorway before finally recovers from the sudden halt, "Oh, of course, how rude of me. Please, come in."

"Thank you for having me." She hears Itachi murmur before stepping into the household and shakes her head lightly with humor. This man is way too polite for his own good.

The interior of the house did not change much since her departure five years ago when she finally found her own apartment in the city. The hand-made, wooden rocking chair still sits in the far corner of the living room with a window nearby, while the plant resting on top of the coffee table beside said chair grow taller still since the last time she laid eyes on. All in all, it is small but comfy, very much like the decorations and furnishings in her apartment.

Her mother has disappeared into the kitchen as they settles themselves onto the couches against the wall adjacent to the doorway, and shortly after, her mother reappears with a tray of steaming pot and four delicate tea cups.

Her mother comments lightly as she pours the hot, green liquid into separate cups and setting the pot down, "You have very good timing, Sakura. I just finished brewing the tea."

She can't stop but smile warmly at the elder woman; something just doesn't change.

As if on cue, her mother springs up and dashes to the counter to retrieve a thick, black binder. And with a peculiar look, her mother hands her the book.

It doesn't take much for her to piece two and two together as her mother settles down in a chair opposite to her and eyes her expectantly. Almost immediately, she drops the heavy binder onto her lap as if burned and shakes her head repeatedly. "Oh no, mother—"

"I will not take 'no' as an answer this time, Sakura."

She buries her face into her palm and moans. And her mother wonders why she doesn't come home often… "Please mother, right now is not the time for this."

"I've heard plenty of excuses, Sakura. You are already a twenty-four-year-old woman that is fully prepared for marriage, and this," with a strength a woman of her mother's age shouldn't possess, the book is harshly tagged out of her hands as pages after pages of photographs—males and their personal information, to be exact—starting to flip through her eyes, "is your homework. Just what should I say when the neighbors ask about my daughter who does not even have a date? I was already married and ready to bear a child at your age, Sakura. You should do the same."

A glace at the rigid set of shoulders and a pair of narrowing eyes to the side tells her that Itachi is definitely not amused at the way events unfold. With that, she groans inwardly. Why now?!

"Did you forget we have a guest, woman?" A booming voice shoots through the room as a silhouette of a man emerges from the shadowy corridor. The disapproving pair of bronze slides to her mother while her father makes his way towards them with ease.

The poor woman jumps at the accusation before lowering the pair of orbs the same color as hers and addressing Itachi apologetically, "I am so very sorry for my ill manners. I wanted her to know that I just… want to be able to hold my grandchild in my arms before—"

"I'm sorry for my wife's antics when it comes to my daughter. She tends to get overemotional at times." Her father's words cut through her mother's rumblings, and inwardly, she thanks the heavens for her father's wonderful timing.

"I understand." As expected, Itachi's voice betrays none of his previous… displeasures. Simple and crisp.

Slowly and leisurely, her father sits himself down on the leather chair to their left.

"I also must apologize for my wife's lack of consideration and missing the introduction. I am Sakura's father, and this," which her father points lazily to her mother, who is slouching against the armchair with her face red with embarrassment, "is her mother."

Itachi nods politely as acknowledgement, "I am Uchiha Itachi from the Uchiha Corporation, also Sakura-san's supervisor."

"Then I must thank you for taking care of her. I hope she is well-behaved?"

That, of course, earns a strong protest along with a roll of eyes from her. "Father, I'm a grown woman capable of taking care of myself."

The small chuckle is short lived as the tension in the air rises. The clock ticks on as realization quickly dawns in her father's narrowing eyes.

"So, what can I do for you today, Uchiha-san?"

And it's just _so_ like Itachi to just drop the bombshell.

"I would like to ask for your daughter's hand in marriage."

* * *

A/N: The art of naming characters always eludes me, so I will stick to the lame 'her father' and 'her mother' now. This is a Mother's Day Special, therefore, a double posting in one day!

I did, however, whipped this one up four am in the morning, so excuse the less-than-normal plotlines.

Review and tell me what you think!

Envo 05/10


	5. Sentiments

Title- Ink Cartridge

By- Envo

Genre- Action/Romance/General

Type- AU Modern

Theme- the Lounge

Disclaimer- I don't own Naruto.

* * *

-

Take Five: Sentiments

-

* * *

Nothing transpose between them.

No cliché come-ons, no flimsy introductions. They knew each other more than enough to recite their family relations backwards.

There is just a simple glance. And that is enough. No words needed.

Two glasses of cocktail sits lonely in wait, forgotten on an abandoned table; amber and opaque liquor glimmers glisten under wavering candlelight and spinning disco ball. Pale, silver orbit loveseats and matching modern tables cover loosely on the circular rising platform paved with crystal white marble. On one end, there is the silver-stripped, white bar readied with varying shapes of glassware and alcohol. While among seats and tables stand a grand piano and an upright bass on a white circular stage. And within the candle-lit background, is the soft and dim milky white lights that encases the centermost unoccupied floor, separating dancers' world from the veiling shadows.

But tonight, there are no gyrating dancers or gallivant wonderers on the floor, nor is there music beating its rhythm into sleek bodies dressing in scandalously scanty pieces of cloth. No, right now, there is only the two of them and the slow and soothing bossa nova.

The silken silver fabric flowing down to mid-thigh rubs against her warm skin as her steps matching his gliding ones in tandem. Soft raven strands tickle her fingers as digits interlock at the base of his nape, twining them together. His larger, warmer ones fall easily on her waist and the small of her back, steering the two of them in patterns of lazy circles on glossy marble. The scent of her perfume and his cologne molds together and drifts in the air around them. And with her chin tilted, the corners of her lips lift lightly as warmth work its way onto her cheeks when she looks up into his eyes. The doe-like obsidian eyes, half concealed by lush lashes and a tinge of feminine air, gleams slightly under the lighting. Don in stark black dress shirt with the first two buttons undone and matching pants, his entire physique is almost too dark and brooding. Except now, when his eyes morph to twin pools of molten dark molasses as he looks down at her.

There is no need for words while they twirl around the dance floor carelessly, basking in soft, feminine tone, soothing melody and melding piano notes.

The short hand on her small wristwatch drags to the number three, and her small smile turns wistful. It is fast becoming her favorite yet most hateful number. Because, it is the date she first lay eyes on him, the time when they step onto the dance floor, but it will also be the time they will part with each other.

Her eyelids veil over her eyes. Time goes by fast, and this peaceful dream is coming to an ending.

Tonight, she may be just a normal woman and he a normal man in this lounge. Yet somehow, they find each other. And they dance the day and night away.

So maybe just for tonight, she is not Haruno Sakura, and he is not Uchiha Itachi.

And just for tonight, she is not his prey, and he is not her target.

* * *

_Two months later_

The silenced Beretta Tomcat feels laden in her hands. Its stainless steel barrel gleams with a shade of cold silver under lilac and scarlet rays that stems through the skylight above. Her palm still feels the biting chill emerging from the grip of the sleek weapon, even though it has been in her hand far longer than she cared to count. The finger resting on the trigger remains unmoving.

This is her job. Hers to start, and hers to finish. That is what she told herself when she looks into the pair of black, black eyes void of anything but barren emptiness while her hand stills as the muzzle of her Tomcat points directly between those dispassionate eyes.

Her breathing has been off ever since she caught the wind of his trial. And now her breaths comes in short and shallow puffs, standing out in the dead silent arena they are in. The thin line of frigid chill against her warmer skin is constantly reminding her as she drags in mouthful of air into her lungs, that a sharp razor edge is placed firmly on her exposed throat. The deadly glint reflecting off the blade resonates with the weapon in her hand, and she feels a slight turmoil rolling under her finger pads. The frosty atmosphere and her eerie observation in combine make the hair on her neck stand.

"You found me." His apathetic murmur reaches her ears, breaking the silence they have.

So it begins.

A wry smile finds its way onto her lips. "No, I didn't," a sigh follows, "You have me chasing you across half the continent. Why stop now? Why here?" Her eyes swipes across the unoccupied room—save for them—with a detailed scan. The artificial leather covering the seating, the silver stripes of the bar, the piano, and the dance floor. It is all too familiar.

"You should know."

The blasé expression he carries leaves no telltale signs of thoughts or emotions. And nothing irk her more than to see the calm-as-ever man—even with a gun directing at him—cryptically conversing with her like he is talking about today's weather.

"I wouldn't ask if I know the answer, Uchiha," she snaps. Whether she likes it or not, she knows her blank mask is slipping. A big taboo among her profession. Her emotion are mixed when she finds herself at the door to this particular lounge, and the strange surges of something unidentifiable sends a sensation swirling through her thoracic cavity, something akin to pain.

"That night—"

"I don't mix my personal life with my profession, Uchiha. Being sentimental on the job will just get you killed." She knows where he is getting at, and decisively stomps that train of thought to a stop. It will just easily lead her to places she does not want to go. Places where she has no control over.

"Then shoot."

Two simple words jars and rings at her ears and the pressure on her neck disappears. From the corner of her eyes, she sees the last shine of the sharpen metal against the light before it is consumed by shades of sable. Her widen eyes meets his fathomless ones, and finds herself froze on the spot.

Her Beretta is still in the air, and her index finger still awaits the single command from her brain to follow through the simple motion that will ignite the gunpowder in its chamber, shooting the bullet through the barrel and into the open space. But somewhere in the process, the information is lost. The finger stays steady on the trigger, and the bullet is still nestled within its chamber. There is no silenced gunshot, nor the final fall on the ground. Nothing.

"So you can't do it." The soft comment echoes in her ears.

Her eyes choose ignore the voice and stay on the firearm in her hand, on the gun that serves her through numerous of mission. It is the one that brings down so many, and many more to come, the weapon that she also knows one day will take her life away.

So ironic.

Feeling the tightness of her chest, she lets her eyes slip to a close. All rules and codes be damned. The overloading sentiments bursting out of their bubbles lasts only a second before it is washed away with every thought in her mind. And when her eyes reopen, there is nothing but resignation.

"You were supposed to be my hundred and thirty-first," the humorless smile hanging dangerously close to the surface begins to show on the corner of her mouth, "but the moment I look into your file, I know I am finished."

As she holds his gaze, her fingers around the weapon begin to loosen themselves one by one. She doesn't blink when the clatter of steel resounds in her ears as her last defense lands between them. Her hand drops to her side; she is fully disarmed. This is as far as she goes.

She might have the luck to keep going on, but she is satisfied. To be pitted against with the top-notch international agent, she could have gone down the first day. Though she is one of the unlucky ones sent after the infamous agent gone rogue, to have gotten this far, she can say she is… content. The pang in her chest gradually increases, and she tells herself that it has nothing to do with her sentimental side. It has nothing to do with what she feels. Nothing at all.

Her fingers reach around his wrist and claps around it. She feels tension runs beneath his skin, but she brushes it away and brings his hand up and back into the rays of light. He is still clasping the handle of the thin blade. Without taking her eyes off his, she inches towards him until the metal rests once again against her vulnerable epidermis.

She might lose the game, but she still has her honor and her dignity.

"After two years, I'm tired. End this once and for all…where I cannot."

She feels nothing when the edges cut a line of red over her soft skin. There is only one thing on her mind: it is time to draw the curtains. She continues to press into the blade until a single drop of ruby escapes the gap and slides down her pale in comparison neck.

Suddenly, he jerks his hand out of her grasp and tosses the now bloody edged dagger aside. There is only enough time for her to see a flash of something unidentifiable crossing his eyes like a shooting star before she is pulled into his arm. A hand, bigger than her own, tunnels through her tresses until it latches onto a fistful of hair and tags hard. The sting forces a gasp out of her lips as her face is suddenly bared to the sky. Instantly, he crushes his lips to hers and swallows her seconds-too-late protest. His tongue slips past her lips as he explores the contours of her mouth, dragging a soft moan from her. His nimble appendage rubs and duels with hers, fanning the embers even more. Her hands, previously stiff from the contact, finally give in and reach up to wrap around his nape, pulling him down to her. The feeling of his other arm snakes around her waist presses her even deeper into him, bending her even more and furthering his administrations.

When he finally pulls back, she finds herself gulping air into her depraved lungs. Her fingers slowly touch her lips only to find them swollen with his kiss, much to her horror. Then embarrassment come next when a blush stoles over her face, setting it aflame.

"So you couldn't do it either," she mutters to herself, unbeknownst that it is easily amplified in the hollow, spacious room they are in.

The only thing she knows next is he towing her back into his embrace, his mouth moving hungrily over hers and drowning her in his drugging kisses.

And the blurred line between professional and personal is finally breached.

* * *

A/N: Yup, it's an update. Nope, I'm not dead. Yet.

I'll say, this one originally only contains the first part. But somehow, the second part comes into the picture, and _voila_! And yes, it is extremely random and choppy and a million reasons more that I thought of tossing it into the recycle bin. Almost.

Hope it is still an enjoyable read though. Again, a big thank-you for those reviews, and do tell me what you think.

Envo 09/05


	6. Payback

Title- Ink Cartridge

By- Envo

Genre- Humor/General

Type- AU Non-Massacre

Disclaimer- I don't own Naruto.

* * *

-

Take Six: Payback

-

* * *

Contrary to common belief, as the current Hokage's apprentice, she wasn't treated as the special one in her work field. The badge bounced lightly in her front pocket, proudly displaying her name and her rank within the hospital.

Her lips quirked at that thought. No, there wasn't any special treatment at all.

The flat heels she wore brought her soundlessly through the quiet, maze-like corridor of the west hospital wing as she made her round on the third floor. She had worked hard to get to where she was, and she wouldn't have it any other way. Tsunade-sama had known her too well; she wouldn't be satisfied if her shishou had gone easy on her. It was, in the end, the sole purpose of her becoming the Slug Princesses' apprentice. To be independent and strong like her teammates.

She took her work quiet seriously; it was her own effort that brought her a reputation on par with her teammates after all.

A string of dismay murmur reached her ears. The high, quiver notes pierced through her musing and shattered the peaceful silence the hospital possessed moments ago. She frowned as her pace quickened. The words grew louder as she reached the end of the hallway, and immediately, her frown deepened. It was already one thirty-eight in the middle of the night, and the visitor's hour had ended hours ago. That left only the staffs roaming in the hospital… just what were they (whoever they were) thinking, stirring up patients that should have been sleeping at this hour?!

Pinpointing the source of disturbance to the room two doors down to the left, she stopped short in front of a cracked door and glanced at the clipboard holder on the side of the wall. Lifting the clipboard from its holder, she unlocked the seal and revealed the patient's file. Eyes scanning through the content, her brows slowly rising as pieces of conversation continued to drift through the door left ajar and into her ears, adding bits of information to the report in her hand. She snorted inwardly.

"I understand that your wound is hindering your sleep, but you must remain—"

"Arrange for the discharge paper, Nurse-san."

"But your medications!"

Her eyes rolled at the dilemma unfolding behind the door. As much as she wanted to indulge in a small laugh at the poor girl's prediction with this patient, she knew if she didn't intervene soon, said patient would most definitely get his way. And she would not allow that after the little stunt he pulled last time.

Clipboard still in hand, she pushed open the sliding door and walked in without lifting her eyes from the paperwork .

"Fusae-san, there is quite the commotion in here. I can hear you from two hallways down." Her tone had been light, casual even, but the staffs had known her long enough to tell the difference between a reprimand and a simple remark.

Her eyes raise and dart towards the small girl—watery blue eyes, sepia pigtails and white uniform, completing with a cup of water in hand and a bottle in another—whose lips quivered when they made eye contact. Poor girl must have been a new recruit in their department to look like she would burst into tears from frustration any moment. Well, she couldn't blame her; this one is one of the top ten on her list of 'most-troubling-patients' since his first visit, not at all the easiest to deal with. She would give the girl credit however; Fusae-san had withstood the infamous Uchiha glare all the while denying his requests, a feat only a few managed.

"M-My deepest apologies, Haruno-san. But this patient—"

"Discharge me."

Drowning out the rest of Fusae-san's high-pitched protests, she trained her eyes on the man that was currently causing the most trouble for her this shift. It certainly wasn't the first time she questioned the reason why men in general hated anything medication related, but this one had put up a fight every time during his visits to the hospital, and it was time to put an end to it. While her expertise didn't lie in cajolement or persuasion, she had plenty of ways in getting rule-breakers inline under the roof of this hospital. It was safe to say that one Uchiha Itachi was in for a big surprise.

She let a wry smile drift to the surface at his curt nodding of acknowledgment. "What is it this time, Itachi-san?"

To the side, the ever-helpful Fusade-san supplied before the clan heir managed to speak, "Uchiha-san needs to take his medication before a release is considered, Haruno-san."

And her brows couldn't lift any higher. Ignoring the dagger-like gaze a certain Uchiha was tossing at her, she glanced back down to the paperwork in her hand before waving Fusae-san over. "Medication? Where is it?"

The little bottle in Fusae-san's hand was immediately transferred into her waiting palm. Turning the bottle over, she mused at the uses of said medication and had to forcefully swallowed the groan willing up her throat and squashed the urge to palm her face. So… all this ruckus for two antibiotic pills? Judging from the medical records, they had managed to disinfect his wound right before he went into a serious septic shock when he returned with a nasty poisoned gash on his back from his mission, and now he refused the medication because it would 'show his weaknesses'? How pigheaded could that man be?!

Then an idea came over her.

Exhaling slowly, she glanced towards the pair of nervous blue eyes all the while making her way towards the warily-looking ANBU captain. "Please arrange for the papers, Fusae-san."

"B-But… Uchiha-san's medication!"

Without a reply, she unscrewed the lid off the bottle and poured two of its content out into her palm. She studied the little capsules and absentmindedly thought to promote Fusae-san's rank for her persistence. The girl was a nurse material in a shinobi's village.

Stopping in front of her teammate's brother wordlessly, she popped the capsules into her mouth. With an agile only a well-trained kunoichi had, she quickly reached up and gripped the back of his neck. Pulling him down none too gently, she tiptoed and tilted her face up to meet him half way. His shoulder tensed and his posture went rigid under her fingertips when she pressed her lips to his. Her teeth nipped at his lips, and when they parted, she nudged the two pills into his mouth with her tongue. Her hand on his neck held him still while the other went to his throat, green chakra glowing.

She pulled away quickly only when she was reassured that he had swallowed his medicine. The flicker of surprise and bewilderment lingered for a second more before they disappeared, leaving a pair of narrowed obsidian eyes glaring glass shards into her.

"Haruno…" He _growled_. Big surprise.

"Don't glare at me, Uchiha," her free hand went to her hips as she regarded said man matter-of-factly, "I'm merely getting you out of the hospital like you asked. Fusae-san won't let you out if you didn't take your medication, and you won't take it because of your over-sized ego. So the only option I have without breaking the protocol was to mouth-feed it to you."

She then winced at the strong and bitter aftertaste of capsule residue in her mouth. Turning, she plucked the cup of water from a still gaping Fusae-san's hand and proceeded to drain the disposable cup dry before pulling a face. "Not happening again."

And the man just had to have the audacity to look amused.

Gritting her teeth in silence, she shook Fusae-san from her stupefied daze and asked for the release papers. Moments later, she had the paper in her palm with a huffing sepia haired girl to her side. Dragging the pen from her pocket, she signed at the end of the paper and dropped the sheet into the egotistic man's hand.

"You are discharged, Uchiha." With a sharp turn, she marched out the room with Fusae-san at her heels, but not before pausing at the door frame.

"But as a payback for making me clean up your mess last time you hightailed from the hospital... bed rest for ten days, medic's orders," she let loose a roguish and saccharine smile over her shoulder, "I will know if you didn't do as told."

* * *

A/N: Again, thank you for the reviews. So here's another one (well, those who wants to see Sakura in control, here you go). Tell me what you think!

Envo 10/04


	7. A day of Norm

Title- Ink Cartridge

By- Envo

Genre- General/Humor/Friendship

Type- Non-Massacre AU

Theme- Classmates

Disclaimer- Do not own Naruto.

* * *

-

Take Seven: A day of Norm

-

* * *

The air was still chilly and the sky was still a deep shade of aqua, yet the village situated among the lush forest of Fire Country was already wide-awake.

Tiny puffs of white accompanied with each breath appear and disappear as the three figures hunching down behind leafy shrubs huddled together for warmth against the freezing wind.

"Why me—" A loud, complaining whine amplified by the stretching silence echoed throughout the glade. But before the sentence could complete, it was immediately muffled into an inarticulate '_mmph!'_ when a hand faster than lighting slapped itself onto a loud mouth.

"Shut up, dobe." A hiss. Then all was silent.

Curling as tight as a ball to conserve what little heat that was left, Sakura ignored the impending brawl to the side featuring her two classmates and eyed the empty clearing ten-ken away from their hiding place.

Emerald eyes narrowed to slits in attempt to see through the fog rolling lazily over dew-dotted grass blades. Slightly paled lips pursed lightly and she gazed up to the lightening sky.

Soon. Very soon.

When the first ray of light that pierced through the heavy haze, a silhouette wavered in the far right of her sight; without a thought, her numb, icy hands reached out and thumped the boys on their heads while letting her glare silence the yelps on their lips. An index finger motioned for them to keep quiet, she returned her gaze to the clearing now occupied by two figures roughly five shaku high, ignoring the grumbles to her side.

"You're late, Shisui-san."

The familiar voice cleared the gloom on Sakura's face. She spared a gaze to her temporary companion and had to stifle the giggle on her tongue at their eyes that were wide as saucers and mouth gaping like fish out of water with what was at play in front of their eyes. Mentally tucking their facial expression away for later blackmail purposes, she returned her attention to the pair in the clearing.

"No, you are just early, itoko-chan," was the tired and slightly sarcastic reply.

Without realizing, a small smile began to bloom on her face. It wasn't everyday anyone got the chance to see two strong ANBU spar with one another. So of course, the price of waking at three and walking down the empty streets of Konoha amidst of the bitter December was easily well worth the trip.

The soft crunching sound drew her attention away from her thoughts. The two profiles were much closer now; with only a distance of five-ken, she could easily pick apart the pieces of their black and white uniform with the rapidly clearing fog. Though their stances were lax and completely at ease, Sakura knew it would change at any moment. At this, she trained her eyes on one of the figures unblinkingly, not wanting to miss a detail. The urge to laugh was starting to bubble up her throat again and she could almost see the faces of pure stupefaction in her mind's eye. Oh, she couldn't wait.

It was Saturday. And it was, as she would like to call it, an all-out day.

And in that instance, both figures blurred as the clash of metal ringed in her ears.

-

-

-

Sasuke simply couldn't fathom the reason why he was to partake in this escapade. Not only was he forced wake in the wee hours of morning on a supposedly school-free Saturday and attempted at slipping out of the compound without being detected, but was also coerced to tail behind one weird, pink-haired girl and the infamous troublemaker of their year who didn't seem to know when to shut up.

He had always scoffed at the nonsense sprouted from the girl, Sakura… or whatever her name was. Even a half-brained idiot like that Uzumaki would know that no academy student were allotted in any Training Field, least of seeing two members of the elite ANBU practicing in said Training Field.

Her delusional comments regarding the ANBU that was supposedly from his clan stemmed from inquiries of his family scraped his nerves that day, so he challenged her.

"_Prove it."_

And that was what landed him in this extremely unsolicited prediction. With what little he learned from poking and eavesdropping here and there, he knew what he knew best. There was simply _no_ _way_ that a mere slip of a little girl like her would be able to get into a Training Field, let alone witness a match between two strong shinobi, as she so bubbly announced.

Well, that was what he thought before crossing the wide span of forest that gave him a warp sensation of ample distraction and resistance. _Genjutsu._

And now as he kneeled behind the ridiculous-looking, pitiful bundle of leaves, he couldn't help but sneak a glance at the tiny girl to his right. He didn't see the path that she led them through. And yet from what he knew, Training Fields were heavily guarded with high-level genjutsu and wards. So how was it that this girl could cross the barrier like it didn't exist? Scratch that. Just how in kami's name did this girl even knew the place exist?

His thoughts were rudely interrupted with the non-too-lightly thump on his head. His hands immediately came up to nurse at the lump. Directing a glare to his assailant, he was about to let loose the string of stingy words when the hidden message conveying in her eyes shut him up. Before he could frown, a familiar sensation crawled up his skin and directed his attention to the clearing they were facing.

There was simply no way…

… _Aniki?!_

-

-

-

He didn't understand why Sakura-chan wouldn't let him try a few of his new pranks on that stuck-up Uchiha. He even offered it, too; he could score a whooping success with a single can of non-washable paint easily.

Even though she was harshly retorted and then labeled a liar—least she proved herself when she offhandedly complimented the skills of Uchiha clan with what she saw—her attitude was still pleasant to that Uchiha. So when he, Sakura-chan's best friend—Uzumaki Naruto, decided to lend in a hand, all she had done was a pinch to his cheeks that smarted for the rest of the day and a clear warning to leave the boy alone.

Why?!

The only one who had bothered to talk to him beside Iruka-sensei was Sakura-chan. And with their conversation throughout the years, he knew Sakura-chan better than anyone else. The Sakura-chan he knew was sweet and understanding; at the same time, she was also different from other girls of their age. He knew the label that teme gave her was unfair. His Sakura-chan would never lie!

Now that his favorite pastime was out of the question whenever that baka Uchiha was concerned, the only option he had left was to play tag along when Sakura-chan offered to 'prove' to the Uchiha that she was telling the truth. No one knew what was in that Uchiha's head, and there was no say in it that he wouldn't do anything extreme. Therefore he must stay with Sakura-chan. So leave it to he, the great Uzumaki Naruto-sama to protect his Sakura-chan! Because against that teme, he still had his bag of tricks to defend Sakura-chan. Excuses could always be made later.

-

-

-

Though she had thought to tease the boys with their stunned faces, Sakura couldn't quite keep the measure of bewilderment from surfacing herself at the power display. All the coldness forgotten, she and her mates sat on their heels and observed the deadly dance of two shinobi for the past two hours. Despite the fact that she had seen such a spar in the past, it never stopped her from being awed at the display that made her understand bit by bit of what experienced fighters meant when they compared their skills to forms of art.

The green, grass-covered soil that was once the base of the Training Field now sported streaks after streaks of burnt marks, jagged chunks of earth uplifted by innumerable earth jutsu, and mud puddles with the depth to her waist. Deflected weapons littered the trunks of wood across the field along with a few that landed a step short from their hiding place. The air was heavily charged with chakra that it felt like a sleek coat that spread throughout the entire glade as the combination of heat and moist sent a wave of uncomfortable burning sensation down her throat whenever she breathed. It was only a few hours into the morning, and yet it felt as if it was already mid-afternoon.

Through the steadily rising steam mixed with debris and through the rippling moist air, she could make out two blurry sets of tensed shoulders shook ever so slightly with hours long exertions. But the tangled pair showed no signs of pausing from their trade of blows. A katana in one hand while the other clinched around the hilt of a kunai, the swift forms twirl and dance away, only to come back to clash at each other once again. A flash step pushing both apart, and the process would start all over again.

It had long since occurred to her that trying to catch their fast-moving bodies was in itself an impossibility, so when the pace suddenly changed, she could only stared wide-eyed at the change of course while her body remained paralyzed at the upcoming event.

Sakura wasn't even sure what transpired in the last three seconds; only that she did not have a kunai's end pointing a hair's breadth away from her face, and most definitely did _not_ have said weapon in her hand seconds ago.

It took her two seconds to stop herself from going cross-eyed at the sharp edge that gleamed underneath the rays of sun, and another three to grasped the situation. By then, she could hear the gasps from the two by her side and feel her heart beating rapidly against her chest. She let out the breath she didn't realize holding.

"You are so cruel, itoko-chan. Why do you always fling a kunai at Sakura-chan every time you see her, hmm? And on a day when we have extra guests, no less." A voice came from her behind made her jump, and judging from the jerky movements from her side, it seemed like she wasn't the only one surprised.

Then a lean, sixteen-year-old boy came into her view. Sakura watched as said boy hunkered down on the empty space to her right and engulfed her kunai-holding hand into his.

"You can let go now, Sakura-chan." Feeling warm fingers prying away her chilled ones, she slowly loosened her digits. She could feel her lips lift as she became more and more aware of what had just happened. It didn't take long before she was beaming brightly in front of her classmate's clueless faces. Then her eyes met with the now standing, tall boy.

"Good morning, Shisui-san," the bubbling of excitement could be heard in her voice when she greeted the now smiling Shisui.

"Good morning to you as well. Catching the kunai with your own hands, you've done well this time, Sakura-chan." Then his hand came down and ruffled her shoulder-length hair playfully in the middle of her giggles. "But you'll have to excuse our Itachi-chan. It is his way of greeting. With a sharp edge, that is."

"And it seems to me that you haven't have enough practice for the morning, Shisui-san."

Laughing good-naturedly, Shisui lifted both of his hands in a surrender motion quickly and then turned to face the younger ANBU joining in their little group. "Extra cold _and_ stingy. You seemed to be lacking some blood sugar today, 'tachi-chan," he disregarded the glare sent to his direction and commented lightly.

"Tread carefully, Shisui-san," Itachi replied lightly, but the shining kunai appearing in his hand suggested otherwise.

Completely oblivious to the threat, Shisui dropped his hands and tucked them behind his head casually all the while talking with a singsong voice, "I don't mind your violent personality, itoko-chan. But I would point that thing in the other direction so no one gets hurt."

Itachi frowned then direct his attention to a sitting Sakura with audible concern in his voice, "Are you hurt?"

Loose pink hair fanned out to form a silky curtain around her face as she shook her head with a smile. Her hand reached up and clenched at the air as if grasping an imaginary kunai, "No. I caught the kunai with my hands. Did you see, Itachi-san?"

"I saw," he inclined his head slightly with a short-lived smile that gave way to a serious façade moments later, "but didn't I told you coming here is dangerous, Sakura-san? With friends, no less…" He rotated his gaze across her two other companions sitting to her left, dazed, and questioned.

"They are my classmates, Sasuke-kun and Naruto-kun. They insisted on coming, so I took them with me," Sakura supplied happily and waved towards her two mates, whose faces were a surprisingly matching tomato red.

Shisui, now leaning against the tree behind them, burst out laughing, earning a few cautious glances from Sakura and Naruto while Itachi's brow lifted.

Sensing the intense gaze, Sasuke looked up with residual pink tinge dusting his cheeks and spoke meekly, "A…niki."

Sakura perked up with interest, "Itachi-san is Sasuke-kun's nii-san? Why didn't you tell me, Sasuke-kun?" Lips pursed, she turned to Sasuke. Then as if with sudden insight, her frown smoothed into another cheeky smile, "It's no wonder you were so angry when I said—"

"Sakura, shut-up!" Everyone could see the recently receding red bloomed again on Sasuke's face.

A hand stationed on top of Sasuke's head non-too-lightly rattled the youngest Uchiha's teeth as, surprisingly, Shisui's voice rang above his head. "Language and manners, Sasuke-chan. Never forget those in front of a lady or else you'll end up a forty-year-old virgin."

On the sidelines, Sakura had to muffle her laughs with her fist at the turn of events along with the swift, pained expression that glossed over the younger ANBU's face. In the end, the giggle won over.

That was until Itachi returned his gaze to Sakura did she sobered up enough to not bend over during her laughing fits. "You shouldn't come here anymore, Sakura-san. Not only is it dangerous, it is also against the rules—"

"Give it a rest, 'tachi. She couldn't resist our charming personalities anyways. And even if you report back to HQ, the only thing you'll get is another long lecture from the Third. Besides, it just didn't matter what we use, Ojou-chan here seems to be able to brush by without much effort. It's useless, I tell you. Useless." Done embarrassing his youngest cousin, Shisui sauntered back and winked at Sakura, earning another heartfelt giggle.

Itachi sighed.

"Can you teach me?" Naruto finally overcame the shock and interjected, reminding them that there was still another person in their group that was silenced by awe.

With a hand holding out for Sakura, Shisui mused, "You have interesting friends, Sakura-chan. However, Naruto-kun, I wouldn't suggest you do that. _That _one can bite, whereas I—"

"…_Shisui."_

Waving off the chilling aura emitting from an ANBU captain, Shisui proceeded to help Sakura up from the ground and gave her a toothy smile. "You and your friends are welcome to come and play here as often as you like—"

"_Shisui!"_

"—But seeing as someone is about to explode without his breakfast, I suggest that we head over to the village and grab something to eat."

"Can we go to Ichiraku?"

"Shut up, dobe—ow!"

"Language and manners, Sasuke-chan. How many times do I need to repeat that?"

* * *

A/N: A little something I wrote back in December. Didn't really planning on posting it because back then, this looked _really_ bad. Guess that's why they say wait a bit before editing eh?

Not much going on in this one. And sadly, no romance even if you squint. I really do like writing Shisui, though I think I probably overkilled his character this time around. Since this one features the Uchiha members and Sakura more than others, so Naruto kind of just appear and disappear from the picture. Sadly, I couldn't fit him into any of the mess (or should I say, lucky him?).

Well, I'm still trying to convince myself to write something for the upcoming events (Chinese New Year or Valentine's day). So hopefully my muse will cooperate when it's time.

Thank you again for reading and reviewing, and hope you enjoyed the laugh. Comments are welcomed!

Envo 02/04


	8. Chance and Choice

Title- Ink Cartridge

By- Envo

Genre- General/Friendship/Romance (light)

Type- AU Modern

Theme- Lost and Found

Disclaimer- Do not own Naruto.

* * *

Take Eight: Chance and Choice

"_It is by chance that we met, by choice that we became friends." - Unknown  


* * *

_

They say you leave a piece of yourself wherever you go and whatever you touch. For Haruno Sakura, it becomes her personal mandate ever since she started to crawl as a babe. She discovers, learns and falls in love with the world with her chubby fingers. And unsurprisingly, her hands-on tendencies carry over through her teen age and into womanhood. Some say it is a bad habit, an immature gesture, an act of disrespect. But what batter self-entertainment is there to pass time than occupying yourself with a doodle or three, a poem or seven, on a free (a must-have in most places), go-green (no trees involved), and erasable (with a wipe of your hand) canvas? To her, it has been and still is an ingenious discovery on her part.

A small smile touches her lips as she finishes the touch-ups on her flower, five petals and a stem, and a stick figure dressed in simple, triangle-shaped, shaded-in dress and a straw hat, also shaded-in. The simple line representing the ribbon wrapping around the hat dance in the wind along with long, smooth hair as the spread out lines of the sun ray shines upon a smiling face. Three-bladed grass covers the ground the figure stand, and somewhere far in the background, mountain upon mountain looms over the scene, as if competing their chances at reaching the radiant sun.

It has taken several tries to get at the finer details, but years of practice has her finishing the drawing before she knows it. And now as she leans back onto the back of her chair, hand resting on the table that balances a still steaming cup of coffee, she surveys her handiwork with satisfaction and mirth gleaming in her eyes.

It is a work well-done if she does say so herself.

Turning away from the quickly fading picture, she finally reaches for the porcelain cup. She cautiously sip at the hot, aromatic beverage before turning back to her art, now as translucent as they are to her self-appointed, glossy and glassy canvas. A vague silhouette outlining her face onto the surface in place of her drawing along with the busy, play-by-play activities happening behind her shadow. Above the reflected image, a overhanging lamp swing ever so slightly with the ceiling-hanging, rotating wooden fan that serves more as a decoration than its intended purpose. A waitress taking orders behind a wooden counter while another busies herself at cleaning with a mop and a spraying bottle. An occasional, disapproving stare will be tossed her way once in a while as she gazes on at the scene with mild interest. Then there are disinterested customers with newspaper and mobile phone in hand sitting around small, circular tables situated in the small cafe. Some are chatting quietly while others read up the headlines of the newest, most scandalous exploits in the gossip column. The dim lighting prevents a full replica of the life behind her back being copied and pasted onto the cool to touch surface. But she doesn't mind. She likes the way it merely takes a snippet at life, much like a photograph. Nothing too complicated, nothing too grand. Just enough she can handle one at a time.

Her eyes then looks pass her own faint reflection to take in the bustling street jammed with cars of varies sizes on the other side of the window. A sigh slips pass her lips. She pulls her attention back to her reflection before blowing a puff of air at her doppelganger. A stick figure completed with the flower, the mountain, the grass and the sun once again ink themselves onto the sheet of see-through glass in all its glory before edges of the man-made fog curls and simultaneously disappearing completely with her drawing once again. A sad smile pulls onto her face.

At the age of twenty-four, the looks she receives whenever she busies herself with her fingers and a flat surface at times suggests immaturity. She has been on the ends of several snickers, jokes, or even out right mockeries sometimes. But she just wave them off as if they are nothing. Because in truth, the gestures and insults don't hold a meaning if they are merely being thrown around carelessly; those people just don't know better. Waves of nostalgic hit as she places her emptied cup onto the table.

They don't know how it has led her to _him_, and how it has brought two strangers closer.

She pushes her stool back on the rough tile floor and stand. The harsh, almost ear-grating sound falls on her deaf ears as she marches out of the doors of the street corner's cafe and into the cold, gusty weather of a chilly December evening. A quick glance at her watch tells her she has ten minutes to get to the bus station before she is subjected to another hour's wait. She quickly bundles her coat closer to her form, clasping her arms closer against her purse and makes her way pass the current parking-lot-look-alike street and onto the other side.

The soft clicks of her heels slows to a stop as she arrives at the stop eight minutes later. A sigh of relief leaves her in a whoosh. She makes it just in time to see the bus roll lazily into the stop before a swoosh of carbon dioxide fills the air, signaling a complete stop from the massive vehicle. A scan of her bus card earns her a nod of go-ahead as she treads her way down the narrow aisle filled with rows of cheaply-made, clothed benches. Mentally counting the rows, she lets out a small squeal of delight as her eyes lock onto the empty row to her left before she practically leaps into the seat.

Eight rows down to the left on the bus route nine-zero-three at eight-thirty-seven. This is where everything started; on this very row, at this very seat.

Her body automatically scoots over to the window seat, where the air she exhales through her mouth leaves a seemly permanent patch of mist onto the glass. Her eyes search the boundaries the moist encompasses, looking for any signs of pattern or word being written. But it is just like yesterday; just like these past five years. Excluding the messy streaks left by a wet cloth of some sorts that drags the long lines across the entire window, there is nothing on the glass but the sheen of fog, spread and await patiently for her to doodle on. A tingle of disappointment and sadness wells up.

She leans her head against the black, iron window frame, allowing its coolness to seep into her scalp, into her skin. Her finger, tentatively reaches up with index finger stretching out. Her eyes stays onto the window as the digit, though hesitantly at first, traces out the words she first saw so many years back then when she was but a teen...

_She had dragged her tired body onto the bus that day. She was wet to the toe and wanting nothing more but to crash down onto her seat and doze away as the bus rock this way and that like a baby's cradle. But as the higher power would have it, her seat (she's been sitting there since before she bothered to count!) was taken. _Taken.

_Dammit, just how many times does she need to stress to those airheads that ever since this bus was added onto the route, she had been sitting at the seat since! She was not in the mood of reasoning to some middle school-er the idea of common courtesy. She may be a first year in high school, but she was now above those of her junior, she can and would most certainly give them an earful when she get to them, just wait. She straightened and look closer at the intruder to her seat and- oh, it's a new guy._

_Her narrowed eyes critically took in the way those long, silky strands of hair that must, and most definitely, have breech the hair-length restriction if he was in her school. Then she noticed those doe-like eyes, with lush lashes the length that should belonged to the feminine gender, looking uninterested as ever out of the window. But the strong, masculine jawline identified him to be quite the looker even among the guys in her school. She could almost imagine the rush of girls when they caught the scent of _this_ particular male.__ Though that was ignoring the palpable, holier-than-thou aura surrounding him. And unfortunately, it only succeeded in making her nose wrinkle and thoroughly, if not completely canceling all the pluses she somehow managed to find. __The fact alone could make her scramble away with a speed greater than she bothered to put in, in track and field competition. She did have a reputation to keep, after all. _

_So as a docile school girl she was most definitely _not_, she grudgingly inched forward, flumping down heavily onto the seat across from row eight and proceeded to glare out of her smudged and dirty window the entire way home. Several times during the ride, she caught swirls of lines made on the fogged glass across from hers with _his_ long fingers gliding lazily across said surface__, and annoyance at her current predicament grew. But she reluctantly pushed down the urge to walk up to him and demand him to get out of her seat. After all, she was not stupid enough to start anything with some guy who she still didn't know._

_But one thing was for certain, she was going to get her seat back tomorrow, one way or the other!_

She lift her moist fingertip off the glass and stares at the word that sears themselves into her memory many years ago.

Choice.

This single word started something neither of them (well, maybe one) expected. She never expected their encounter to evolve into something so complex. It is just a word. And yet the day after she replied to his one word ice-breaker, they both changed.

He was the choice, and she was the chance.

_She look at the neatly written word (the swirl of lines she had mistaken the day before), a deep contrast with the fogged glass in the backdrop, grimly. Great, she had not only begrudged a person who probably didn't even know what he had done to warrant such a disapproval, now she even went and got herself a stalker through pure bad luck. A creepy and arrogant narcissist if she read his flirtatious one-word sentence correctly. She just gotten her seat back, and now she had to deal with this? Biting her lips, she blew softly across the glass and swiftly uncurl her finger to form a reply with strokes. Oh she would play his game... and knock him down a couple of notches while she was at it._

_"Chance, and nothing more."_

It starts with something of a race to row eight, often leaving an amused bus driver in the rolling dust in the progress, but neither of them appear to care even if a little. She remembers it always left her fuming as he, somehow and one way or the other, managed to get on the bus faster and earlier than her no matter what tricks she tries to pull. And in the end, she only finds herself in her seat every other day, with the days alternating between weeks at times. It sets her teeth on edge at such a overbearing, not to mention tyranny maneuver, and she had wish he would disappear from her sight just to spare her from the misery.

But months later, their race somehow morphs into a literal dodge ball, where wits are pitted against one another. Then before she knows it, they are spending more times arguing and spitting out challenges to each other while sitting _on the same row_ than not. And considering that was months later before she discovers that it was his intention all along... she pretty much walked right into his trap from the beginning.

Darn the man and his plotting mind.

It took quite the probing and coaxing on his part to get her to finally accept his presence in her world. And surprisingly, he was the first to open himself to her. She learns he was several years her senior, a genius (a miscalculation on her part of assumption) of his year to be exact, from a school nearing hers; she learns of his stubborn streak, almost as tangible as his pride is, was exactly as she feared: incurable. And then she learns of his name and his family, the long history of the clan she was too distracted to delve into. She, in return, told him of her story, her passion, her dream. He listened as no one ever had.

She knows somewhere between bickering and mocking, something changed. But she was too afraid to examine it closely. The only thing she is sure of was his trust; it was the one thing she has in her hands just as he has hers. Whenever she needed him, he was there. Whenever he was troubled, she was here. And with life slowly settling into a comfortable, unchanging routine, she was fairly content with the way future leads.

She blinks out of her reverie and than down at her hand lying innocently on her lap. A few stares later has her head lifting up again and at the glass. Sometimes during her trip down memory lane, she added her word, 'chance', below his. But the strokes doesn't stop there.

_Fate._

Her heart gives a hard thump against her ribcage as the word registers into her mind. Fate. It has dictates their meeting, their relationship that was still growing, and then send him away from her before there could be a conclusion.

_He had left for town to take care of family business. And that was the last she saw him. Not a word from him since. _Nothing.

She doesn't know what hit her until she realizes he was gone. She can no longer lie to herself that he is merely a friend. His constant presence by her side those years make her conscious of the cool, empty space now lying beside her. He had forced his way into her life, and now a gaping hole once a part of her life is the only evidence of him ever being here. In this small town, in her life, in her memory.

It took her two months to realize that he is not coming back. And she, a mere pass-time, is discarded just like one of the doodles on the window. A wipe without second thoughts, and it is gone. Forever.

It was another two months before she managed to come back to her older self. Two month of wallowing in self-pity and near drowning in her own tears taught her the meaning of heart break. And it is then she vowed to herself to never be fooled again.

She mentally calms herself and the chaos stirring to life inside her. She is a strong woman; she will brace through this storm if need be and come out a survivor.

The screeching halt jolts her out of her soft, closed-lip mantra, and belatedly, she realizes it is her stop to get off. Scrambling to a stand, she hastily wipe a hand at the window, not looking as the words dissipate into little beads of moisture on the now cleared glass. She didn't look out the window as she picks up her purse and fumbles with her coat's buttons as she make her way out of the row and down the aisle. And even as she exits the sliding door of the bus into the cold, her head is still down as she busy herself wrapping a scarf around her neck. Her flustered heart slows as she finished checking for any patches of skin being exposed to the wind. And it is only when she is thoroughly wrapped from head to toe did she slowly look up and take a step away from the curb.

Then her breath hitches.

Her eyesight begins to blur as she looks into familiar obsidian. They are eyes she has no seen since that day, and with them comes the sudden explosion of questions in her mind. She can't read the swirling emotions behind those dark orbs, and she is too overwhelmed to try. Her head is spinning with the jumbled mess inside, but it doesn't take too long to fish out the one question that can answer the remaining rest.

"Is this," she waves a hand between them, encompassing the span of space between them, "a chance or a choice?"

_...or is it fate?  
_

_

* * *

"Meeting you was fate, becoming your friend was a choice, but falling in love with you I had no control over." - Unknown

* * *

_

A/N: Was going to work on and post another story, but this (bad!) bunny cut-in, loudly demanding it to be written. So here it is. I know it appear to be unfinished and needs an ending, but this is as far as my muse take me, and I currently have no future plans for this yet. However, ideas are welcomed. The other story will be postponed to New Year, I suppose. Hopefully it will be finished by then.

Since I promised a few one-shots for the holidays, this one will be one of them. Though it appears as if I played with words and quotes a little too much, I tried to match up character's personalty with them. Sakura being more capricious and impulsive is _chance_, while Itachi, cautious and more of a planning person has _choice_. Hopefully that wasn't too confusing. Can't say I'm pleased with how this one came out, with the grammar and out of character mess going on, but it did have the general idea I intended it to have in there, somewhat.

Hope you still enjoyed the read regardless,

Envo 12/25


	9. Celebration

Title- Ink Cartridge

By- Envo

Genre- General/Romance (light)

Type- Non-Massacre

Disclaimer- Do not own Naruto.

* * *

Take Nine: Celebration

* * *

The newly admitted patient had kept her occupied with paperwork and follow-ups until late eleven forty-seven. And even then, she only managed to slip away when Fusae-san took pity on her and offered to watch over her comatose patient for the time being while she break for twenty minutes.

She quietly sneaked pass the double doors of Konoha Hospital's intensive care unit wing on the second floor and crossed the hallway leading to the special care section. Her soft paddling sounded loudly to her ear as she walked by the nursing station. Several knowing smiles were given in return for her polite nod, and she couldn't help but roll her eyes at the silly look she was subject to. Really, nothing got pass those nurses in _this_ hospital. Especially these graveyard shift-ers.

Her heels took her directly down the hall to an all too familiar sliding door with a number twelve etched on the sliding plate on the door. She did not bothered count the number of times she had been before this very door. She swallowed a sigh and drops her hand into the clipboard holder and withdrew the stack of paper within. Hands unsealing the document, she pushed the door gently and marched in.

She didn't need to see to know that tubes and wires were hanging on one side of the wall in complicated patterns. Though much to her relief, only the intravenous drip remained of use currently in the entirely white cubic room. She could not bring herself to relive the moment when they rushed him into the hospital after that disastrous mission, landing two full squad of ANBU into the critical care, none of the members escaped unscathed without at least two weeks under careful observation of the hospital staff. They even blockaded her from the operating rooms that night, leaving her pacing in the resting area along with a teary Mikoto, stoic-like-a-statue Fugaku and an equally stony Sasuke. She had been near ready to burst through the steel doors of operating room three by hook or by crook had Naruto not restrained her from behind. Though after that night, she had been thankful that the order, directly from Tsunade herself (imagine that) had her far away from the scalpels then. She would not have known what she would do if she were really the one to witness the wounds he bore on his team's behave.

Now the man in question lay unmoved silently underneath pristine white sheets with creases in the exact direction and position as they were when she last visited him some eight hours ago. Timed drops of yellow medication drip into the thin tube that led to the bandaged needle in his right wrist, a dead weight on top of the cover. Raven hair unbound and flow across white pillow, a stark contrast with the pale face stripped of any signs of consciousness.

She gazed worryingly at the shut eyelids as she moved to sit at the chair nearing his bedside, the clipboard hanging loosely against her side with her hand curling over its edges. That was two weeks ago when he was admitted into the wing, and since then he had never opened his eyes once, even though further examinations told of no abnormality. She scanned the remainder of the room with half an interest; flowers in varies of vases were already covering the only table in the one-man room, and with even more gift baskets and bouquets lying along the foot of the walls, the scents of a hundred flowers and at least twenty get-well cards easily overflowed the room with ease. Though she really did sigh at the slightly wilted flowers in the glass bottle nearest to her on the table; she would need to bring in more water for those flowers.

She stood to check on the drip, a habit the medic in her insisted upon doing. But just as she hefted herself from the chair, a shuffle so light her keen hearing she nearly missed made her swivel around in surprise. However, to her disappointment, it was not the sound of him waking. A wry smile lifted her lips when her eyes landed on the culprit to her alarm, the pink card possibly from his sizable fan base, that fell from a single potted white daisy wrapped with frilly ribbons and pink paper tissues and onto the white tiled floor. Someday she would have to guard her back against the portioned population of the female gender that was vying for her place by his side. But until then—

Something grasped onto her wrist when she was about to turn, and she nearly jumped out of her skin as her eyes first sought out her restrain, five callused fingers circling around her wrist, then following the arm pricked with needle and swathed with bandaged until she met the seams of the cover. Her startled eyes went up and collide head on with twin obsidian, and a tidal wave of relief flooded her senses.

"Itachi." her hands clasped and twine with his on their own accord, immediately immersing her fingers in his warmth. Momentarily overwhelmed with joy, relief and so much more, she couldn't find the proper words to speak. She could only held on to his hand with all her might, assuring herself that this wasn't a dream.

But even so, there was no need for words.

He only needed to look into her eyes to know all that she wanted to say. Because despite his still healing injuries, despite his showing weariness, he merely rasped softly with his gravity voice.

"I'm home."

And the longer hand of the clock aligned with the hour hand at the number twelve.

* * *

A/N: The one-shot that was supposed to be done and posted in place of _this_ suddenly grow in length to the point where it becomes a monster sitting a corner of my computer. So instead, this is whipped up (once again) on the last minute in its place. Though I broke the tradition of posting one on the eve of New Year, but it's the thoughts that count, right?

This _is_ the sequel for the sixth chapter of _Ink Cartridge_: _Pay Back_, taking place a few months after the incident. And the decision of writing a sequel for an one-shot is purely luck, since I was basically wrecking my brains for inspiration half an hour before New Years.

Hope you enjoyed the read, and wish you a Happy (belated) 2011!

Envo 01/01


	10. Experiment

Title- Ink Cartridge

By- Envo

Genre- General/Humor

Type- Non-Massacre

Theme- Prank powder

Disclaimer- Do not own Naruto.

* * *

Take Ten: Experiment

* * *

Most women of her age would have swooned at the enormous line of men attempting to woo the fair maiden's heart. But of course, Haruno Sakura is most certainly, definitely _not_ one of those women.

Ignoring the eerie sound of a body falling from behind, she lowers the empty cup back onto the counter and sighs. Ino must have gotten to her drink again; without the usual bit, the thing tastes like water.

"Ino, I can't possibly drink this!" She yells over the clamor. As to the reason why the tavern is packed to the brim on a Tuesday early afternoon with such a loud crowd, she has learned to not care.

Certainly, she wasn't as indifferent as she is now when words first reach her ears. She is the Hokage's apprentice, after all. But when the mystery remains unsolved, even after a few smashed tables, several knocked out bodies on the street and a bruised fist the following week, she realized that she would sooner or later burst a vein or three before she can figure out just why acts of misery done to her at her expense suddenly turned into a village-wide sports event (heck, there was even several betting pools going around, for kami's sake!).

She looks up just in time to catch Ino's disapproving glare complete with hands on her hip. "Shizune will _murder_ me if she has to deal with two drunken alcoholics knowing that I'm giving you sake in the middle of the day."

"I haven't drank in a week—but that's beside the point. Do you expect me to sit here like an idiot? If it wasn't for her I won't even be here in the first place!" She purses her lips.

Really, if she has the ability to turn back time, she would.

She had just gotten back from an assignment that day and had been pressed to meet with Shizune at the tavern. Still donned in combat gear, she had forgotten to wipe away the thin coat of knockout powder on her person when she got there. Bless the man that came within three feet from her, it had been a hard fall to the wooden floor. And that was the first thing Shizune saw when she arrived at the tavern, with the man completely knocked out ten steps from the base of her bar stool. Thus spawned this little project of Shizune's, which reads: for the noble cost of developing a new tool in their arsenal to use on missions, mixtures of powder with varies effects are to be used on 'willing' test subjects. And since she is approached regularly (in Shizune's eyes) at the tavern, she then becomes the 'bait' that draws in willing test subjects… more like victims, in her honest opinion.

She would have never believed it would work until the entire situation turned into some sort of contest of who could last longer under the effect or who came the closest to her before the effect took over… in short, men trying to redeem their wounded pride. _Of course they couldn't let a smudge of dust defeat them._ Of course.

She shakes her head as Ino's signature high heels clicks closer.

"Don't shake your head at me, Forehead. Tea is all you're getting today." Then the blonde looks over the bar and gaze behind her with a blank stare before rounding up on her, "And as much as I appreciate a free mop for the floor, Sakura, that guy is convulsing. You're just going to leave him lying there?"

She steals the steaming small cup in Ino's hands and sips at the aromatic tea. At least it's not mint flavored, she grumbles inwardly. "We're after effects, not how long it lasts. He's got another five seconds to go then everything will be back to normal."

Ino harrumphed and looks around at the establishment. "I don't see Naruto or Sasuke-kun here. Where are they?"

She places the half empty cup onto the counter none-too-gently and scowls, "They better not show their faces here. If they are, let me know. I'd let them eat two doses of Shizune's specialty _each_ for leaving me here in the first place."

"My condolence to them."

She can't help but snort at that remark. "Don't bother. After all the creative ways they've tried to kill each other and themselves in the process, I doubt a little poison will do them in."

Ino shakes her head, "You are one cruel teammate, Sakura."

But before she can speak, Ino's remorse expression suddenly morphed into a scheming smirk that has the alarms blaring loudly in her head. "Look sharp, Forehead."

She looks at her best friend's fast retreating figure and frowns. What in the world…?

Then a hand is placed on her left shoulder. She freezes. _To think someone can get pass both the powdery poison and her senses!_

"Surely you are not trying to poison civilians with baby powder, are you, Head Nurse?" A low chuckle brush lazily across the shell of her left ear.

She looks to the left with disbelief. Sure enough there stands Uchiha Itachi, as if there is never any powdery poison in the air to begin with, all the while looking like he has every right to invade her personal bubble with his hand on her shoulder! _And he dared to call her powder mix, the blood and sweat of her slaving a full twelve hours in the laboratory, _baby powder_?!_ _The nerve of that man!_

"Immunization, Uchiha-san, not poisoning; we live in a shinobi village after all. But since you are no normal civilian, I can assume that you'll need something stronger than this _baby powder_, am I correct?" she grits her teeth at the infuriating knowing smirk.

"I will await my turn for the _administration_, Head Nurse. For now, you are needed in the Hokage tower." _Challenge accepted._

She stands and effectively detaches that overly warm hand from her shoulder. _As if one egotistic Uchiha on her hand isn't enough, here comes another headache!_ "Then let's hope our next setting has more patting. Won't want you to fall and bump your head like this gentleman here now would we, Uchiha-san?" She smiles sweetly at the aggravating man, though she isn't sure if it is able to hide her locked jaw.

Even as she exits the tavern, his annoying laugh stays with her. Absolutely irritating.

She stumps away, leaving the hushed and scattered crowd behind. She knows full well just what two doses can do. And frankly seeing the man under severe hives, hacking coughs, weaken knees, convulsion and then finally knocked unconscious just doesn't fully placate her anger. _How dare he mock her creation!_

To hell with doubling up the dosage. She might as well see if the effect-to-dosage ratio is linear or exponential.

_Triple the dosage it is._

* * *

A/N: It's been a long while since I've last posted. Life's been hectic, as per usual. Haven't stop writing, just at a much _much_ slower pace. Definitely a bit rusty, so hopefully this one holds up to the expectation even with its ridiculously short length.

Hope you guys enjoyed it regardless,

Envo 08/29


End file.
